among thoughts of gratitude about my blessed american freedoms this forth of july weekend, i had thoughts about the whole mating dance we women are free to do while out on the town during such weekends.
obviously the first issue about being on the prowl is assessing the attractiveness of the potential prey. attraction makes the world go round as superficial as it is. most women like to get a group consensus that the stalkee is worth the time & effort involved in the intricate stalking ritual. however, the more fundamental issue at hand is having “similar taste” in said mark. so you can not only get the assurance of the group you are not hunting down a gnome, but also clearly mark your territory. most times this works flawlessly, as your best girl will point out important shortcomings you hadn’t noticed like hairy man toes glaring out of flip flops or the dude’s girlfriend standing next to him giving you the death eye just as you were going in for the kill (and, btw, in the latter situation, the lionesses in my posse all concur, “hey, honey, all yours,” because we ain’t gonna scrap over any potential sperm donors).
speaking of physical attraction, i have a pal whom i adore but our “type” differs significantly. at first this seemed like a good thing because we would never be interested in the same man. but, it turns out, when i am with her, it is impossible to get a proper read on a contestant. i fancy myself a connoisseur of a higher level of quarry, while i consider her ideals to lean toward the bottom rung of candidates. she is the beautiful girl who has no idea she is so pretty. she digs “teddy bears” which generally translates to hairy fat dudes. while in some circles this is a perfectly legitimate fetish, i keep telling her she’s a chubby chaser & needs to elevate her game. but instead of taking my gentle advice, she keeps draggin’ me into her white trash pit of despair – unemployed, married, bearded, completely tattooed, fat, hard core, leather wearin’ motorcyclists – while i struggle to introduce her to dudes with all of their teeth. don’t get me wrong: it thrills my ego to no end to go to the bar located in what i consider to be the appalachians of jersey and be the prettiest chicks there with all of their chromosomes. of course these guys love her because they will never ever get another girl of her caliber. EVER. they struck that night’s chick lottery. now it would be fine if she kept her habit to herself, but she keeps dragging me into it. i agree to accompany her only because she lures me with the promise of driving & buying my drinks so i can drink the place interesting & try to hit on the best looking dude in the bar (and best looking is absolutely relative to your locale). furthermore, these dudes are so scary that beer goggles don’t even kick in. once again, this weekend, she dragged me to her den of decay and there was NOT ONE dude that i could even drink cute, but thanks to my old pal vodka i did get trashed enough to call over two trolls, who from a distance looked slightly more like hobbits. upon seeing them close up i was like “no way” & changed my mind. this poor dude turns to her & whimpers, “she called me over.” to which she could only shake her head & reply, “i know,” while patting him on the back. perhaps, she will now think twice before taking me there again if she has to clean up my trail of destruction or next time i just might barf in her car.
this reminded me of another incident over the weekend in which two of the women left unattended by the rest of us for 5 minutes, were approached by two unsavory characters. these geezers sit down next to them and launch into a very long winded, boring, whiny story. now, those of us that have been out there for a while no longer feel the need to be “nice” because quite frankly, we don’t feel like it anymore. so, my girls, turned to each other, and with a nod, left these loser romeos in mid-sentence which caused one of the aforementioned manatees to say to the other, “snotty bitches” loudly enough for one of said bitches to hear. she tapped him on the shoulder and said, “excuse me?” he choked & tried to say, “we weren’t talking about you.” she said, “yes you were, but that’s okay beacuse we are.” we are. they then proceeded to the ladies room. needless to say, i may now have a new hero.
oh guys, its time you knew women are just as ruthless as you are. we check out your asses & the size of your, ahem, feet. we extract key details that tell us if you can afford us and can figure out if you’re married or have a girlfriend in new york minute. women talk amongst each other & exchange every single humiliating detail. we can get your bio & rap sheet from each other faster than a google search. of course, we still may not make the best decisions armed even with the proper knowledge, but that’s a whole other issue.
i have no point in writing this other than to hear the quiet sobbing of men & to share what a classy bitch i am. i am aware i will probably never get another date now, but i can always hit on this guy at that bar…
Tags: beard, hunt, leather, motorcycle, prey, tattoo, teddy bear, women men
